


You Look Good In My Shirt

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by a Movie, Movie Reference, Smut, What's Your Number scene, just an excuse for smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:31:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke play a game of strip Horse (Clarke's idea, naturally) after he rescues her from her mom's dinner party.</p><p>--Recreation of a couple scenes (and then some) from the movie What's Your Number</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Look Good In My Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> because I have zero shame, apparently. attempted to add some more to the scenes, plus a little backstory, but you know... anyways, my first fic of this rating for these two, so please be kind XD  
> title from the song by Keith Urban.

“Where are we going?” Clarke tugged at her red dress again, shifting in the passenger seat.

Bellamy’s eyes flicked over at her before focusing on the road. “You’ll see,” he said, infuriatingly calm. “You wanted out, right? I’m getting you out.”

She couldn’t argue with that. She did want out. Badly. Her mother’s boring dinner party that she’d been forced to attend - yet again - had nearly done her in this time, networking be damned. And the dress she’d borrowed from Raven… well, suffice to say she was going to kill her on first sight Monday morning. 

She’d done it on purpose, that was almost certain. It might have have been something Octavia would call cute, if it hadn’t been a size too small. Her breasts had been practically waving hello the entire night. Clarke wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to breathe normally again. 

Bellamy’s eyes had nearly popped out of his skull when she climbed out the second-story window of her parents’ house. She wished she could say her glare had been what left him speechless, but even she knew that was a lie.

(She couldn’t even think about how his gobsmacked expression had sent a slight thrill down her spine, lack of breath or not.)

Thankfully, he’d helped her down without a word, and now they were winding through the quiet streets in his trusty beat-up black car. Clarke was suddenly struck by an idea. “Oh my god!” She laughed and reached into the back seat, where she’d flung her silver clutch along with her heels. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it earlier.

“What’s up?” Bellamy was wavering between watching her and the road.

“You’ll see,” she mocked. It earned her a poke to the side that made her squeak loudly, and he grinned.

Finally finding her purse, Clarke leaned back in her seat, again tugging her dress down. Opening the small bag, she dug around until her hand closed around her trusty black switchblade - a gift from her dad when she’d finally gotten her own apartment. Flipping it open, she grinned over at Bellamy, who merely lifted an eyebrow.

“I hope you’re not planning on using that on your rescuer.” 

“Keep poking me and I might.” Clarke grasped the hem of the dress, and with a satisfying thrill, took the blade to the cloth, dragging it upwards until there was a sizable slit on one side. At least she could kind of walk properly now, instead of the awkward waddle she’d been doing all evening. 

She sighed gratefully. “That’s better.” 

Bellamy laughed admiringly. When his gaze lingered, Clarke smiled and flushed. Glancing out the window, she realized they’d finally stopped moving. A familiar building loomed in front of them. 

“The basketball stadium?”

He nodded and got out of the car, his long strides already carrying him away. Clarke scrambled out barefoot and took off after him. Bellamy produced a key from his pocket and took them through a side door, down a long passageway, and swiped a keycard at a final door, bringing them into the aisle among the seats.

“Whoa,” Clarke murmured. “This is definitely illegal.”

“Probably.” 

“How’d you even get a key to this place?”

“Don’t you remember I worked here that one summer in college? Half-janitor, half-repairman?” He grinned and held up the key. “Made a copy on the first day. Swiped a pass key too, before I left. It has its perks.” 

“Well done, Bell. I’m impressed.” Clarke laughed and scooted past him, down the rows of seats and onto the hardwood floor of the basketball court. 

Moments later, a few of the lights flickered on and Bellamy joined her, a small smile still on his face. He was wearing a large unzipped hoodie over a button-up shirt and jeans. Clarke nearly asked for his sweater, but resisted. (She loved stealing his hoodies, and he loved complaining about never seeing them again.)

Bellamy shoved his hands in his pockets. “So the party was that bad, huh?” 

“Worse. I didn’t know anyone, and I didn’t want to try. They’re all a bunch of fakes.” She gestured to herself. “And this stupid dress didn’t help matters.” 

A shadow crossed his face. “Did anyone-”

“No,” Clarke hurried on. “Nothing I couldn’t handle myself. Plus, Wells and mom’s friend Kane were there, so they took care of the rest.” 

She watched the concern fade slowly, though she knew he wasn’t entirely satisfied. Bellamy’s temper was pretty infamous. So she changed the subject.

“Thanks again for coming to get me. Hope I didn’t interrupt another date,” she grinned up at him, only to find his eyebrows knit together.

“I haven’t been on a date in a while. You know that.”

Clarke blinked. She _did_ know that, but she hadn’t been expecting him to admit it. 

“Well… you can’t blame me for asking,” she said defensively. His mouth turned up briefly. 

That was how they often met in the halls, after all. They lived in the same building but had been friends for much longer, thanks to his sister. Bellamy was usually trying to escape one of his more… _eager_ one-night stands in the morning when he’d run into Clarke, who was returning from a shift at the hospital. Often half-naked, he’d all but run into the apartment after her, peeking through the peephole until his latest conquest left. More than once, Clarke had pretended to be his girlfriend returning home from a business trip. She told herself it was only because he always made her breakfast afterwards, and who was she to resist delicious pancakes? (Though, he had returned the favor on one spectacularly embarrassing occasion that she refused to mention ever again.)

Clarke grinned at the memory, knowing Bellamy was having the same thoughts. But when his eyes softened and her pulse picked up, she searched for a distraction. Hopping over to one of the racks, she picked up a basketball.

“Let’s play HORSE,” she said abruptly. At his shrug, she walked to the net and heaved the ball up. It hit the backboard and swished through the net. She spun around with a small cheer. “Ready to get beaten by a girl, Blake?”

Bellamy’s face cleared and he chuckled. “Not a chance, princess.” Recovering the ball, he nudged her out of the way and took the same shot. But he put just a little too much force behind the ball - no doubt imagining it as someone’s head - because it hit the backboard too hard and too high, clanking off the rim.

“Ha!” Clarke pointed. “Shoes off.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Well obviously we’re playing Strip HORSE. Otherwise it’s no fun.” 

She raised an eyebrow in challenge, crossing her arms. For a moment, she thought he’d refuse and decide to just take her back. Then a lazy grin crossed his face, and she knew she had him.

“Alright. Just remember this was your idea.” Bellamy threw the ball back to her and kicked off his sneakers. "But," he added, "this one doesn't count. You were already barefoot. So now we're officially starting."

"Whatever you say." Clarke walked so she was directly in front of the net, then turned so her back was to it. With a smirk, she lobbed the ball up granny-style, whooping when she turned and saw it go through the net. She and Wells had played this game so often when she was a kid that she was a pro by now. Raising the stakes with Bellamy only made it that much more fun.

His jaw dropped slightly as he realized just how much trouble he was in, but he shook his head and took the same shot, not even bothering to watch it sail over the backboard. As Clarke giggled, he shucked off his socks and tossed them atop his shoes.

She retrieved the ball, shaking her finger mockingly. “It was all the way in row 12. Come on Bellamy, you can do better than that.” 

“It’s all part of my master plan,” he called back.

The next shot, they both made. So on her turn, Clarke stood further back and raised her hands up, bouncing the ball as hard as she could. She watched as it veered straight for the backboard after the first bounce, and popped into the basket.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Bellamy sighed and did the same - and he almost made it. But the ball bounced off the rim, and he threw his hoodie on the pile. 

“Stop whining, you’re still completely clothed,” Clarke told him. 

“Oh so that’s the real reason we’re playing this, is it?” He said, his eyes glinting. 

Rather than answer, Clarke took her next shot, willing her heart rate to slow down as Bellamy brushed by her to get the ball. He made his shot easily, tossing the ball back to her. Deciding to go for it, Clarke stood almost at the three-point line and chucked the ball in the air. When it sailed through the hoop, she yelped and jumped in glee. Bellamy was laughing as he came over.

“Nice one,” he gave her a high-five before lining up for the same shot. The ball went off the backboard and circled around the rim for what seemed like forever before dropping off.

“Oh come _on,_ ” Bellamy groaned. “That’s just not fair.” 

But he began unbuttoning his shirt anyways, revealing bit after bit of his tanned, broad chest.

Clarke gulped. Suddenly it occurred to her that she might not have thought this all the way through. When his shirt joined his sweater, she peeked up to see the sculped line of his shoulders, the narrow vee of his waist above his jeans, and her mouth went dry. 

Well. That was incredibly distracting. 

Bellamy turned back to her, holding the ball out. Though he wasn’t smiling, she wasn’t sure she was imagining how his eyes crinkled at the corners. _Shit._ Was he enjoying this? Clarke took the ball and strolled for a bit, trying to find a position and clear her thoughts.

“Come on princess. We haven’t got all night,” Bellamy smirked.

Oh, he was definitely enjoying this. She had _so_ not thought this through.

“Then you go,” Clarke tossed the ball back at him. He shook off his momentary surprise and grinned. 

“You asked for it.”

He jogged to the basket, bouncing the ball a few times before shifting it under one leg to his other hand for a one-handed layup. 

Clarke’s mouth dropped open. “You suck.”

Bellamy merely grinned and held the ball out to her. She nearly tripped over herself trying to replicate the shot. _Fucking dress._ Bellamy was chortling behind her, hands braced on his knees as she whipped around. 

“If I was in real clothes, I would have made that,” she protested.

“But you’re not,” he replied, a tad too gleefully. “And you didn’t.”

Clarke propped a hand on her hip, studying him. He raised an eyebrow. _Conceding, princess?_

_As if._

With a roll of her eyes, she turned her back and peeled off the dress, throwing it on top of his pile of clothes. Her chest was considerably happier with the decision as she took a deep breath. Though suddenly, she was far too aware of her simple black bra and decidedly un-matching red panties. 

Turning back to him, she crossed her arms in front of her. “This is so not fair. I remove one piece of clothing and I’m nearly naked.”

“It was your idea,” Bellamy said absently. His eyes had darkened impossibly, drinking her in like she was the first unclothed woman he’d ever seen. Her skin heated with a fierce blush, and his mouth lifted at the corners. He didn’t miss a single detail. Goosebumps tickled her flesh as his gaze lingered. 

When anyone at the party had eyed her like that, Clarke had felt slimy and gross and in sore need of a shower. But when Bellamy looked at her like that, she felt good. 

She felt wanted.

Because there was no moisture left in her mouth, she strode up to him and plucked the ball from his hands, preparing to take another shot. 

Then they heard footsteps come from the corridor, and the faintest beam of a flashlight appeared.

“Hello? Who’s in here?”

“Shit!” Clarke dropped the ball and ran for her dress.

“No time for that,” Bellamy tossed his shirt at her, throwing on his hoodie and picking up his shoes. He grabbed her hand and they ran barefoot for the exit, their laughter echoing in the empty gym. Clarke let him lead, trusting him to know his way through the building.

When he threw open the final door and they stepped outside, she yelped. “Jesus, it’s freezing!”

“Well to be fair, you aren’t wearing much.” Bellamy barely flinched when she punched him.

“And whose fault is that?” Clarke yelled back as they ran to his car.

“Yours, I believe.” He grinned and ducked inside. Clarke was shivering too hard to bother replying, her hands fumbling as she tried to button the shirt. She wasn’t entirely sure that her trembling was due to the cold, not with the way his eyes kept sliding over her bare legs, and up… Suddenly she was holding her breath for no reason.

Bellamy noticed her shaking and reached behind him, coming up with another hoodie. Clarke accepted it with a grateful smile, slipping her arms inside and curling herself onto the seat. The large sweater covered her frame easily, and he turned on the heat in his car as they left the parking lot.

After a few minutes, Clarke was warm enough to reach a hand out to turn on the music. Bellamy always had a good mix CD in his car.

“Thank god I have my own place,” she grinned. “Could you imagine me having to get back into my parents’ house looking like this?”

He glanced over at her. “I don’t know. I think you look pretty good.” 

Clarke looked away first, her cheeks warm. 

“Though I think your mom would disagree with me, as usual,” he continued. She didn’t know if he was truly oblivious or just pretending to be, but she was thankful either way. “Besides, getting you _out_ of that house was hard enough when we were in school. I don’t know if I could sneak you back in, too.”

“I don’t remember _you_ being the one dangling off the roof night after night,” she retorted. 

“No, I was just the one that caught you before your head got cracked on the ground,” Bellamy grinned. “And the one who gave you a boost back up.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She poked his arm good-naturedly and settled back into the seat.

For a while, there was just the sound of his car on the pavement as they wove along the back roads to their building. There weren’t many others out at this time on such a cold night. Clarke preferred it that way. She’d lost count of how many times she had been in the passenger seat of this car with Bellamy, just driving around at night when neither of them wanted to be at home. The routine had only continued when they found themselves living in such close quarters, though now it happened less because of their busy work schedules.

Then Bellamy spoke up. “So what made Raven give you that dress?”

“No idea. Maybe she thought you were going to be at the party too,” Clarke joked without thinking. Then it occurred to her what she’d said, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Her wide-eyed reflection stared back at her from the window. Bellamy was looking between her and the road every few seconds.

“Why…” He cleared his throat. “Why would me being there have anything to do with it?”

Clarke wanted to curl up in the sweater until it swallowed her whole. As it was, she didn’t know how to respond. “Maybe it was her idea of a joke,” she suggested weakly, but he wasn’t buying it. 

A familiar song cut through the air, startling them both. Clarke reached around the backseat, finding her purse and pulling out her phone. 

“Speaking of…” She answered the call and put it on speaker. “Hey Raven.”

“Clarke! Please tell me you got out of there.” 

“Safe and sound,” Bellamy answered.

“Hey Mr. White Knight.”

“So Reyes,” he drawled, “you want to tell me why you stuck your best friend in a dress two sizes too small for a fancy dinner party full of rich sleazebags?”

Shit. So he _was_ still angry about that. 

There was silence for a solid minute before her voice floated back through the speaker. “What are you talking about?”

“The dress you left at my place,” Clarke explained. “It didn’t fit very well.”

She shoved Bellamy when he snorted.

“Was it red or maroon?” Raven asked.

Now Clarke was confused. “Red, of course. Wh-”

“Oh god,” Raven’s groan filtered loud and clear through the speaker. “I’m going to _kill_ Jasper.”

Jasper? What the hell?

“Raven,” Bellamy chimed in. “We’re pretty lost here. Can you explain?”

She sighed. “I got called into practice early today and I didn’t have time to come by Clarke’s place. So I asked Jasper to take the dress for me. I specifically told him the maroon one on the right, _not_ the red one.”

Clarke started giggling uncontrollably. Even Bellamy cracked a bemused smile, though he was shaking his head. 

“Sorry Clarke,” Raven said.

“Me too,” she replied between laughs. “I may or may not have taken my knife to it.” 

“You probably improved it. You’re okay now, though?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll see you Monday.” 

Clarke was still chuckling when she ended the call. She leaned back against the seat, considerably more relaxed. Even Bellamy seemed at ease. When they arrived at her building, Clarke snuggled further into the cushion.

“I don’t want to move. It’s warm here.” 

“It’ll be warm upstairs too, once you turn on your heater.” 

She glared at him. “Haven’t you heard that thing? It sounds like it’s going to explode at any moment!”

Bellamy laughed. “Come on princess, don’t go soft on me now.” He opened his door, mercilessly letting in the cold air as he jumped out. Clarke cursed, grabbing her heels from the backseat, and threw open her own door. Keys in hand, she had the front door open in record time and ran inside, feeling Bellamy on her heels as she hurried up the steps to the third floor.

Pushing into her apartment, she went straight to the radiator, turning the valve and hearing the pipes start to creak and groan as it heated up. Making a face, Clarke padded around barefoot, tossing the hoodie onto the couch and her heels into the closet. When she turned, Bellamy was leaning against the counter, just watching her. There was a mixture of adoration and yearning on his face, and it made heat rise on her neck.

“What?”

He blinked and shook his head as if coming out of a daze. “Nothing, just…” He swallowed. “The shirt looks good on you.”

Clarke stared down at the white button-up that covered her to mid-thigh. Her flush deepened.

“Well, good,” she managed, “because I’m keeping it.” 

Bellamy chuckled. “No you’re not. Women have stolen so many of my shirts I barely have any left as it is.”

Clarke didn’t like thinking about that. So she propped her hands on her hips and scolded, “They did _not._ They borrowed your shirts fully intending to return them, but you never called.”

Bellamy cocked his head thoughtfully before pushing off the counter to walk over. Clarke was rooted to the spot, trying and failing to decipher his strange expression. There was an unreadable look in his eyes when he stopped in front of her. “So what you’re saying is, if I’d had fewer one-night stands, I’d have more shirts.”

“I’m certain of it.”

With a small “hmm,” he moved closer, invading her personal space and making her breath catch. His eyes had darkened immeasurably. 

“Then that settles it,” he said quietly. His hands fisted in the material of the shirt, tugging her close. Clarke was frozen as he undid the first button, his eyes locked on hers. “I’m changing my ways, and I’m not going to lose any more shirts.” 

Clarke swallowed, gazing up at him. “Really?”

Bellamy met her eyes. “Really.” His fingers moved down the shirt, purposely slow and lingering, as he slipped each button open until he reached the bottom. “In fact,” he continued, and now his voice dipped so low it sent a bolt of heat through her, “I think I’m going to take this one back right now.” 

Clarke was beyond stunned. “Good for you,” she whispered, barely registering that her mouth was moving. All she could see was the determined look in his eyes, the undisguised _wanting_ , and she knew it was reflected on her face. Bellamy’s eyes remained on hers as he pulled the shirt open, but his hands didn’t move to her skin. Clarke stared up at him, aware that they had completely crossed into some other dimension beyond friendship. 

Then his gaze flickered to her mouth, and all she could do was wonder why it had taken so long.

They crashed together, their lips meeting in a desperate, hungry furor. Bellamy’s hands wound into her hair; hers dug into his shoulders as she rose to her tiptoes. Clarke was lost in it, the feel and taste of him overwhelming her senses. When he pulled back for air, she protested and followed, their mouths colliding in a mess of teeth and tongue until he angled his head and cupped her neck, and then she sighed long and hard. He grinned as his hands spanned her waist before dropping to her bare thighs. Shifting, he picked her up easily and began walking until they hit her bed, landing on the mattress in a tangle of limbs. 

Clarke sighed again at the feel of his body covering hers, warm and solid. His tongue slipped eagerly past her lips and she clutched at his back, urging him as close as possible. They lingered in a heated embrace until finally Bellamy pulled away with a groan. His lips busied themselves along her neck, fastening to a spot under her ear that made her arch up and twist her fingers into his hair.

“You smell like strawberries,” his voice rumbled lowly against her ear and she shivered.

“My- my shampoo.”

He only hummed in answer. Clarke fumbled with the zipper of his hoodie, dragging it down and shoving blindly until he drew back to pull it off. While he was off balance, Clarke sat up and pushed him onto his back, crawling over him to press her mouth to his. Her hands traced the dips and curves of chorded muscle in his shoulders, her nails raking over his broad chest and making him moan into her mouth.

She trailed kisses along his jaw, her hands continuing to wander lower to trace the sharp vee of his hipbones. Bellamy released a strangled laugh and his fingers dug impressions into her hip.

“Been thinking about this a lot, princess?”

Clarke bit down on his earlobe, smirking at the resulting groan. “As if you haven’t.”

Bellamy growled and all but ripped the shirt off her, his large fingers immediately flicking open her bra and tossing it aside before they returned to knead the soft flesh. Clarke whimpered and kissed him as he rolled them over again. Then his mouth lowered to clamp over a breast, swirling his tongue around her nipple. When his teeth lightly grazed her skin, she muffled a moan into her hand.

Bellamy’s mouth left her breast with a soft pop as he looked up, lips swollen and pupils blown with desire. He pulled her hand away.

“I want to hear you.”

A rush of wetness pooled between her thighs as he returned to her overheated skin, licking down the valley between her breasts. Clarke stuttered and twisted as he got closer to her aching center. When his fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties, she bit her lip in anticipation. But he made no further move, causing her to look up blearily.

“What is it?” 

Bellamy smiled shakily. “I’m never going to get this image out of my head.”

Clarke looked down at his dark head framed between her legs. “That makes two of us.”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh before dragging the underwear off and settling between her legs again. A flush crawled over her skin under his longing gaze, and this time his smile was nothing short of cocky.

“The game turn you on that much, princess?” He didn’t wait for a reply before he licked deeply into her. Clarke’s head fell back to the pillow with a loud moan, her hips canting up to meet his mouth. His hands dug into her skin, holding her down as he pressed a wet kiss to her thigh.

“If I’d known what it was doing to you, I would have probably missed all my shots,” he murmured into her skin.

Clarke squirmed, trying to urge him back to where she wanted. “You _did_ miss most of your shots,” she reminded him somewhat breathily.

“Master plan, remember?” Bellamy winked before finally putting his mouth on her again.

His tongue laid broad, firm strokes against her folds and she curled her hands into his hair to keep him in place. He hummed in agreement, the sound vibrating against her sensitive flesh and making her hips buck forcefully. One of his hands drifted to her ass, lifting her slightly. 

When he sank a long finger inside, Clarke’s eyes nearly rolled back into her skull. He worked at her with his mouth and hands, driving her to the peak of pleasure until she thought she would combust. She tugged at his hair, pleading, and then he slipped a second finger inside and crooked upwards, hitting a spot that made her see stars.

She breathed heavily as she came down from the high, still trembling as Bellamy made his way up her body. Kissing him softly, she tasted herself on his mouth and felt her inner muscles clench in response.

Her mind eventually unclouded enough to realize that he was still clothed from the waist down. She frowned and reached for his belt buckle.

“Why are you still dressed?” 

Bellamy choked out a laugh against her collarbone, and together they tugged off his pants and boxers. Clarke wrapped her hand around the hard length that jutted up against his stomach, hearing his harsh gasp.

“Clarke…”

“Hmm?” She grinned and leaned up to kiss jaw as she gave a few quick jerks. Bellamy grunted, his teeth leaving a mark on her neck. 

“Wait,” he gasped, and pulled away. Clarke protested at the cold air that rushed over her in his absence. Looking up, she saw him leaning awkwardly over the side of the bed, digging around in the pocket of the pants strewn on the floor.

“Bell, what-”

“Condom,” he answered tightly.

“Top drawer.” Her hand scrambled to open her bedside table, knocking against his as he reached over at the same time. They laughed at their haste, and Clarke suddenly felt a rush of affection for the man beside her. She kissed him softly for a moment, her hand directly over his heart. Bellamy’s fingers clasped hers as he returned the kiss just as tenderly before slowly lowering her back to the bed. 

As soon as he’d rolled the condom on, he took her hands and pressed them into the mattress beside her head. His eyes found hers as he settled over her, slowly sinking into her warmth.

Clarke closed her eyes as her muscles stretched to take him in. Her ankles crossed behind his back, her hips tilting to allow him deeper. Bellamy’s hair was damp and sweaty when he dropped his forehead to hers, straining to keep still.

“You good?” 

The question was uttered so gently that tears pricked her eyes. She smiled up at him. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He began to move slowly at first, but when their hips found an easy rhythm, all control began to slip away. Clarke urged him on, every thrust wrenching a new sound from the back of her throat. Bellamy released her hands to wander along her body, and she curled her arms around his back as their kisses turned sloppy.

The pressure built rapidly inside her, and soon she was calling out his name as she curved and shuddered out her release. Bellamy’s breathing was ragged as his hips drove into hers a final few times, following with a moan muffled against her skin. He rested atop her a moment longer, his head lying on her chest as they both caught their breath. Clarke stared at the ceiling, unable to help her foolish smile as she played with his damp curls.

Then he pulled out of her and rolled to his side, getting rid of the condom. Clarke leaned over the bed and grabbed his white button-up again, sliding into it with a happy grin. When he turned back, a smile stretched across his face and he pulled her close.

She snuggled into his side, tracing patterns on his abdomen. “I don’t think your plan worked so well. I’m not giving back your shirt.”

“Shame,” he murmured, sounding not the least bit concerned. His hand dragged slowly up her ribs, making her squeal and giggle. His fingers became more insistent, tickling mercilessly before he rolled atop her with a devious grin.

“Guess I’ll have to keep finding ways to get you out of it.”


End file.
